


Mercy

by Allegra_Soleil



Series: Mercy [4]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Dom/sub, F/M, Go to chapter 2, Here only for the smut?, I NEED A HUG GUYS, I got you fam, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Porn, Reader Needs a Hug, Smut, everybody needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20991122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allegra_Soleil/pseuds/Allegra_Soleil
Summary: You're finally face to face with the man responsible for your mother's death. Can Peter stop you from making the worst mistake of your life? Or is this the end for you and Peter?





	1. The showdown

“She’s here”

Peter froze where he was standing on the porch, looking out into the night. It had been three weeks: Three weeks without any news from you, three weeks of fearing you were already halfway across the world, never to be seen again.

“Are you sure?” He asked, without turning to meet his companion.

“She’s been circling the house for the last forty minutes” Clint explained, impassive, coming to a stand beside him, “I guess she wasn’t expecting to find you here, threw her off a little. But I recon she’ll figure a new plan of action soon…”

“Plan of action? What are-…” The words died in his throat when he felt it: the shiver down his spine that made the tiny hairs on his arms stand on end, the familiar shot of adrenaline that made everything sharper, clearer, the tingle on the base of his skull. The Peter tingle.

“Something’s wrong” He announced, falling into a fighting stance, suddenly alert, “It’s not her, she never triggered my spider-sense before…”

“She never was a threat to you before…”

He didn’t have much time to wonder what the former agent meant, the bullet hitting the wall mere inches away from his head making it perfectly clear.

“Laura and the kids are asleep inside, we need to get her away from the house” Instructed Clint, still calm, professional, ducking and dragging Peter with him. The barn was their best shot, they would have to round the house and run a few yards with no cover, but you would probably want to do this up close and personal. He knew you had no problem with cold blood, but this was way too intimate for that.

“We have to make it to the shed, I don’t think she’ll shoot again,” He decided, “that one was just for persuasion”

“Persuasion?” Peter repeated, confused, “Persuasion for what?”

“I assume for you to stay out of this.”

...

As predicted, they made it to the barn without incident, crossing the yard swiftly, no sight of you anywhere. The wind picking up the only sound that could be heard outside.

Clint met Peter’s eyes in the shadows inside the small wooden building. Knowing Peter could probably see him clearly, he let his façade of coolness fall,

“Peter, listen to me, when this is all over, she’s going to need someone on her side. She’s gonna need a friend, even if she doesn’t want one” He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, voice urgent and eyes frantic, “You have to promise me that, no matter what happens, no matter what you see tonight, you’ll stay with her, you’ll be that friend”

“What do you mean? What is going-…”

Clint framed Peter’s face with his hands, forcing him to look at him,

“Just promise it!”

“Ok! Ok, I promise!”

“Good boy” the older man approved, releasing him. Only moments later, a figure appeared at the door, black against the dark stormy sky, deceivingly small and delicate, like a ballerina. Only the feline, dangerous air of your every movement belied your lethalness.

Lightning fell in the distance, illuminating you, and Clint let out a choked sob: You had done one of your mother’s old uniforms, a little ill fitting but the effect was intact. You had even gone as far as dyeing your hair the exact same shade of red her natural color used to be. Despite not sharing any DNA, in that moment you looked just like her.

“Y/n?”

“Hey, Spidey” Your smile was all teeth, sharp and predatory, nothing like the warm, soft look you had given him the last time he saw you, just before you jumped out the window. “Fancy meeting you here”

You didn’t give him time to answer before hitting him square on his chest with a Spartan kick that send him crashing to the far wall of the barn.

You didn’t give him time to answer before hitting him square on his chest with a Spartan kick that send him crashing to the far wall of the barn.

“You’ve been pulling your punches!” He accused, standing up only to find himself stuck to the wall with what looked suspiciously like one of his own webs.

“How?..”

“I took a little sample last time” was your laconic answer. You then turned your attention to Clint, who had stood unmoving the entirety of your exchange with Peter, and even in the darkness inside the shed, he could see the hatred burning in your eyes. “Hello, uncle Clint”

Your punch got his head spinning around and he stumbled back a couple steps.

“You got a mean right hook,” He complimented, “Your mom would be proud”

“Don’t you fucking dare talking about her!” you hit him again, this time with the hill of your hand facing up, pushing his nose into his skull, and heard with sick satisfaction the crunch of the bone breaking.

Meanwhile, Peter was still fighting against his restraints, with little success. His brain was a convoluted mess: The way you were dressed, the way you were attacking them, Barton not even trying to defend himself… nothing was making any sense. When Clint had said you were coming to them, he had imagined you would be coming for shelter, or comfort. Seeking your trainer's best friend’s help to hide from SHIELD. Maybe, just maybe, to steal something you needed, like you had from him…

But never in a million years did he picture this. He had seen your file, knew you were a highly trained assassin, knew about the people you had killed. But it somehow hadn’t seemed real, not until now.

And Clint still wasn’t fighting back.

A roundhouse kick later and he was on the floor, where you continued to beat him viciously, punches and kicks hailing over him, in front of Peter’s horrified stare.

“Stop!” He yelled, still struggling with the webbings, “Y/n, what are you doing? STOP!”

Your eyes never left Clint, still on the ground.

“He doesn’t know?” You questioned, unbelieving. Clint shook his head, coughing up a little blood.

“I couldn’t… couldn’t tell him..” He croaked.

“Wow, you’re even more of a disgusting coward than I thought!” You sneered, “You know, I used to think you were a superhero! The stories _mamochka_ used to tell me 'bout you… now I see the truth… _ootebya nyet yayeesav_!”

_Mamochka_. Peter didn’t know much russian, but he knew that word: Мамочка. It finally clicked. The hair, the uniform, Clint’s refusal to return your attacks.

“Natasha Romanoff wasn’t your trainer… she was your mother” He spoke the words out loud, stunned by his realization.

Your head snapped up, meeting Peter’s eyes.

“She was” You confirmed, “At least the only one I've ever known… and this _otvratnyy_ rat killed her!” You punctuated your words with a hard kick at Clint’s kidneys. He took it as he had taken the beating before; silently, without complain.

“No!” Peter argued, “No! He didn’t! She- she jumped, she sacrificed herself to get the soul stone!”

“Yes, she did.” You hissed, voice dripping with venom and rage, “And guess who let her go?!”

“It was her decision,” Peter insisted, trying to talk some sense into you, “it wasn’t Clint’s fault!”

“But it was,” Groaning in pain at every movement, Clint managed to get himself up to his knees, “It is my fault. I- I let her go… I should have tried harder. I should have aborted the mission, I- I should…” He blinked away the tears, taking a long breath before going on, “She… jumped so I didn’t have to, so I could get back to my family… She never got back to hers” His sobs were growing louder, “She never got back to you, so I could get back to my own children and I'll never forgive myself to that… Now she’s gone and I’m nothing… nothing without her…”

It was the truth, before Nat, he had only been another agent, another marksman. Talented at what he did, but with no heat, no heart. And away from her… he remembered his days as Ronin. He had done way worse than any Hydra agent, was no better than any red room asset, and he didn’t even had Bucky Barnes' brainwashing or Loki’s mind control to excuse his actions.

“She was the best of us. Tasha was the best of us, and I let her jump instead of me, it should have been ME!!” He howled. His tears only seemed to make you colder, no trace of mercy in your dead eyes.

“Yes, it should have” You replied, a verdict. A sentence.

You pulled a gun out of the holster around your thigh. Peter redoubled his efforts to release himself, desperately tugging and pulling at his restraints,

“No! No, please y/n, don’t do this!” He cried, muscles screaming with the exertion, feeling a few of the webbing strands snap. A couple more minutes, that was all he needed. “Please, you don’t have to do this, it’s not too late! We can… we can run away, together! I’ll go with you, we’ll star a new life! It doesn’t have to end like this!!”

For a second, your emotionless mask cracked, and Peter could see the pain, the sadness, the bone aching loneliness inside your eyes.

“I- I’m begging you, don’t do this…” _Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow _“ I love you,” He finished, voice breaking, “I can’t loose you like this…”

You wanted to give in, he could see it in the way your fingers around the gun trembled slightly, in the way you adjusted your position minutely. But then you set your jaw, and the mask was back in place.

“Love is for children” You declared, taking the safety off your gun.

“No! Noooo!”

“It’s ok” Clint’s calm as he looked up at you was a painful contrast to Peter screams, “I understand, y/n. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know I don’t deserve it, but I hope someday you can forgive me… Do it, please, do it now”

He closed his eyes, strange little barely there smile on his face. You understood too, he was at peace with this, ready for his sins to be washed away with his sacrifice. Was this what your mother’s face had look like, on those final moments?

Peter closed his eyes too, bracing himself for the coup de grâce. But as the seconds ticked away and the sound of the shot didn’t came, he opened them again.

He almost wished he didn’t, cause seeing you crumbling, falling apart in front of him was almost more than he could take. You were visibly shaking now, holding the gun with both hands, tears streaming down your face.

The sound that left your throat was almost inhuman, as you finally dropped the gun, turning around and tossing it away.

“She trusted you!” You yelled, coming back to get on Clint’s face, “She fucking loved you!! And I hate you, but I can’t… I can’t…”

You didn’t have to explain, Peter understood: You couldn’t kill someone your mother had loved so much.

The levee broke completely, and you fell to your knees, weeping uncontrollably. Clint tried to wrap his arms around you, but you hit and clawed at him until he was forced to let you go.

“Clint, help me get the fuck out of these!!” You heard Peter’s furious demand somewhere in the distance, and it wasn’t long before you felt him pull you into his embrace, breathing in that familiar scent of his, that for some reason, already meant home. You held onto it -onto him- for dear life.

“Why?” You sobbed, unable to control yourself, “Why did she died for him? Why didn’t she _live_ for me??”

Peter only held you tighter. He had no answers. But he did have vows, he had promises whispered against your hair, so softly that you weren’t even sure you had heard them: _I'll live for you. I’ll kill for you. I’ll die for you. I’ll gladly do it twice if you want me to. I’m yours, take my life. Take it all…_


	2. The aftermath

“She didn’t just give me a family, she gave me an identity, you know? I was just a lab rat for Hydra, Just some genetic experiment, for them I was just a number… 32557038/2. I didn’t even have a name before she saved me.” You confided, sitting in the dark, on the counter of _Clint freaking Barton’s kitchen_, of all places, with Peter Parker standing between your open legs, hands resting on either side of you on the counter, effectively caging you. You wondered idly if he was doing it on purpose: placing himself between you and the door in every room. Was he afraid you would run away again? You wouldn’t blame him if he was; you still weren’t completely sure you would be staying. 

“They would keep us in a facility posing as a children’s psychiatric ward… wouldn’t even let us stay with the other children they were training, we were way too dangerous,” You went on, voice unusually small under Peter’s soft stare. Coming from anyone else, you would have hated that look. Because on anyone else, that look would have been pity, but in Peter’s case, it was sympathy, it was understanding. If anyone in the world could understand what it was to loose your family, that was Peter Parker. “I don’t actually remember much, but I remember enough. I remember the fire, and her hair, redder than the flames, as she picked me up and took me with her…”

“Is that why?..” He curled one of your locks, wet from the shower and currently bleeding red hair dye all over the white t-shirt he had lent you for you to sleep in, around his finger. You shook your head no, eyes on the floor.

“No, I did this to hurt Barton. I guess you could call it _‘Psychological warfare’_” You let out a little self deprecating chuckle that broke Peter’s heart. You looked so small in the huge t-shirt, so defenseless, so lost… so unlike the badass she devil he was used to. 

And there must have been something fundamentally wrong with him, because he had never wanted you more in his life. You were vulnerable, needing a friend, needing comfort… and all he could think about was you on top of him, bouncing up and down his cock, milking it for all it was worth, just like the first time you had taken him, at that fateful school trip.

He reached behind you for the cold glass of water you had left there, forgotten. A cold shower would’ve been better, but as it was, this would have to do, since he wasn’t ready to let you out of his sight yet.

And yes, that did mean he had spy on you while you showered. And _fuck_, thinking about that was not helping. Neither was standing so close to you in the dark, with your perfume invading his senses, or the way your eyes darkened as they zeroed on his throat as he swallowed the icy liquid, or… oh. _Oh_. 

He understood then: it wasn’t just his need, it was yours too. Your world was crumbling, falling apart at the seams. For two years, getting revenge for your mother’s death had been the only thing that kept you going, your mission in life. And that had blown up in your face. You needed to regain some semblance of stability, some sense of control.

And he knew exactly how to give it to you.

“I don’t want to sound like an insensitive asshole” He said tentatively, setting the glass back down, “but I don’t think we should be talking about your mother right now…”

You frowned a little in confusion, then widen your eyes when realization hit you. It was stupid of you to think you could actually hide it from him, he could probably hear your heart rate accelerating, or smell your arousal -which, ew- or something. In any case, you blushed, avoiding his eyes as you stuttered,

“Peter, we- we can’t, I mean, I’m not…”

It was so out of character, all it did was strengthen his resolve.

“Why not?”

“Because” at last, you met his eyes, “Peter, I shot you! I tried to _kill_ you!”

He only shrugged,

“Every relationship has its stuff”

You smiled at his reference, remembering that first conversation at biology class, when you had bonded about his favorite TV show. It was short lived, though, as you looked away again, confessing,

“I just… I don’t want to hurt you anymore”

How could he tell you that, when it came to you, the line between pleasure and pain was a blur? That he liked it when you made it hurt? You owed him, body and soul, how did you not realize that?

“Really? Cause, if I remember correctly, I am owed a punishment…” He teased you, instead.

“I mean it, Peter” you insisted, “What we’ve been doing? It’s not healthy. I’m not healthy”

He pushed away from the counter, getting out of your personal space and you breathed in relief, only to get all the air knocked out of your lungs at the sight of him standing before you completely naked, and perfect and hard, having gotten rid of his shirt and pajama pants so quickly you didn’t even saw him take them off. All you could see were miles of soft skin, golden from weeks of farm work under the hot summer sun, draped over taut muscles. Your eyes fell from his broad shoulders, to his gorgeous pects, lower to those _god damned abs_, down to the sinful V of his hips and finally, red and angry and so gloriously big…

“Oh, you’re so bad!” You gasped

He smirked,

“I told you I need to be punished”

In only eight words he had managed to completely melt your resistance. Along with your synaptic transmission process.

You licked your lips,

“You want me to punish you?”

“I want you to take what’s yours” He replied, unwavering. You hoped off the counter, stalking towards him. He felt his heart beat faster and faster with every one of your steps.

“Oh, so you want to be mine, then” You were so close now, close enough to touch. But by now he knew better than to reach out, and risk you ending your little game before it had even started. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

His eyes dropped to your lips,

You grabbed his chin, fingers digging almost painfully on his jaw, tilting his face down to finally, finally, crush your lips to his, tongue slipping inside his mouth, owning it like never before.

You broke the kiss as abruptly as you had started it, leaving Peter dizzy with want and confusion.

“Turn around” You commanded, “and put your hands on the table”

He obeyed and you rewarded him by running your fingers down his spine and lower still, caressing the curve of his ass. You leaned over his back to whisper against his ear,

“Do you remember the traffic lights?”

You watched the goose bumps erupt on his skin: He remembered.

“Green means keep going” He recited, “yellow means be cautious”

“Very good” You approved, placing a little kiss on his left shoulder, “And red?”

“I’m not going to need that one”

“You don’t know that, Pete” You sighed. He needed to understand the rules clearly. Your pleasure wasn’t and would never be more important than his safety.

“You could never hurt me” He insisted, convinced of it, “I trust you”

“Ok, no, stop” You stepped away from him and he turned to face you right away with something akin to worry.

“Did I do something wrong? I- I’m sorry, I didn’t-…”

“Peter, stop, look at me.” you cupped his cheek with your hand and he leaned into the touch, “There is nothing wrong with safe wording, ok? You won’t make me mad, or disappoint me, or anything like that.” You explained, “That word is as much for your safety as it is for mine. I did some terrible things in my life, some of them tonight, but if I ever hurt you this way? If I ever… I would never forgive myself”

He knew what you meant. Just thinking about the possibility of doing something that violated your consent was enough to turn his stomach.

“Ok” He accepted, taking your hand and squeezing it reassuringly, “Ok, red means stop”

You smiled what probably was the first sincere smile in weeks,

“Good boy” You praised, “now, get in position”

Peter felt his cock, that had deflated a little during your conversation, twitch back to life at the change in your tone of voice. God, he had it bad, didn’t he?

Once he had braced himself on the table again, you placed your hand back on his ass cheek, stroking the firm flesh there.

“I’m not a sadist, I don’t feel pleasure causing other people pain, you know?” You commented casually, as if your hand wasn’t snaking down between his legs to massage his balls, making him roll his eyes behind his skull. “So, I’m going to give you a choice: I can spank this pretty ass until it’s cherry red for me” Your favorite option, but he didn’t need to know that, “or you can choose not to come inside of me tonight”

Peter immediately did a little noise of protest, and you chuckled.

“Don’t worry, baby boy, you’ll still get to come,” you promised, letting your fingers travel up, putting the slightest of pressures on his perineum. Peter cursed softly. “just not in my pussy. You can even come on my ass, or my breasts…”

Peter shook his head no,

“You don’t want that? What about my face?”

“N-no” He managed to get out, twisting his neck to look back at you. “The spanking, please”

“So polite,” You grinned, deceivingly sweet, “too bad you’ve been such a bad, bad boy”

CRACK.

The hit resonated in the dark kitchen. Peter felt the sting belatedly, surprised by the strength behind the hit. He thought back at the way your kick had sent him flying earlier, the bruising on his ribs a clear reminder. He was in trouble.

The thought should not have been as exciting as it was.

Another smack on the exact same spot, and he couldn’t hold back a little whine.

“Color?” You inquired, voice low and soft, a clear separation from the scene.

“Green” He answered without missing a beat, “so fucking green”

You slid back into character.

“Poor baby,” You cooed, mockingly, “does it hurt? Is it worth it? To have your pretty ass spanked raw, so long as you can come all inside me?” SLAP “As long as you can fill me up so good?” SMACK “Over and over again, until it’s gushing out of me?” CRACK. SMACK. CRACK.

Peter collapsed onto his elbows, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes and precome out of his cock.

“I asked you a question!”

“Yes!” He cried out, “Yes, so worth it!.. So fucking worth it!”

So responsive. Did he even know how perfect he was? The things he made you feel?

You had planned on a longer punishment, but he looked so delicious, writhing under your hand, unsure if he wanted to get away or closer to it, making such pretty noises…

You pulled out a chair,

“Sit down”

He did so at once, letting out a jagged hiss at the feeling of the cold, hard wood against his sore backside. You pried his legs apart, sinking down on your knees between them, enjoying the way his lust blown eyes went huge at the sight.

“Tell me, Peter, ever had a blowjob before?”

“N-no”

You smiled up at him, big and bright and innocent and somehow it felt dirtier than if you had been moaning obscenely, wanton like the women on the internet videos he was used to watching.

“Would you like one?”

“Yes… God yes!” He breathed out, heart hammering inside his chest. You leaned down, sucking a bruise on the inside of his thigh.

“You can make as much noise as you want, and come whenever you want” You told him once you were done marking him, “but you can’t touch me, or I’ll stop”

And if you’d stop, you would stop for good, he remembered the rules from the bus, recognizing their importance now: You were strong, but he was still stronger, and he could easily hurt you were he to loose control.

You nuzzle your cheek against the side of his thick cock, made even thicker with his arousal, before placing tiny, kitten like licks along his shaft. He watched you mesmerized, not even blinking, wanting to commit every second to memory. But when you licked one long stripe from base to tip, flattening your tongue against him before closing your lips around the head, he couldn’t help to throw his head back in pleasure.

You wrapped your hand around him. Thick, so thick there was an almost uncomfortable stretch to your lips as you tried to take as much of him as possible inside your mouth. So soft, _so hard_; marble covered in velvet. He tasted of salty sweat and precome and something uniquely Peter. You moaned, wanting more of it. It worked, and you were rewarded with another drop leaking out of him. You twirled your tongue around him, chasing the flavor. He cursed as you started bobbin your head up and down, fisting his hands on either side of him to stop himself from burying them in your hair. His pleading sobs filled the air and you picked up your pace, his heart fast as a hummingbird, trying to scape the prison of his ribcage. You felt it, reflected on the vein on the underside of his length, throbbing with blood beneath the skin.

He wasn’t going to last, you saw it on the way his head was trashing from side to side, dark eyes burning underneath darker lashes; felt it in the way his muscles were locking, toes curling.

“I… I’m going… O-oh god, I'm…” He tried to warn you in a broken voice, words barely understandable. Always so caring. You swallowed around his head, pushing down your gag reflex even as the tears gathered in your eyes and your lungs burned with the lack of oxygen. It was worth it, as you felt him pulse against your tongue, releasing his load on the back of your throat, making you choke on it.

Before you could react, you found yourself on his lap, strong arms around you and soft lips placing tiny little kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids and anywhere they could reach, as he whispered delirious apologies against your skin.

“I’m sorry, so so sorry, my princess. Are you ok?”

“Shhh… it’s ok, Pete, I’m ok” You crooned, pushing his curls, messy and damp with sweat, away from his forehead, soothingly. You kissed him, open mouthed and dirty, felling him moan deep in his chest at the first taste of himself on your tongue.

His hands sneaked under your makeshift nighty (_his_ t-shirt, on _his_ princess), stroking your back, your ass, pulling you firmer against him. You felt his length against your leg, hard and ready again, as he broke the kiss just so he could nibble on your neck, teeth scrapping softly against the delicate skin there, to tear a needy sound out of your throat.

You twisted in his embrace, straddling him on the chair, letting him feel how wet -dripping- you were for him through your simple cotton underwear.

“Please,” He begged against your shoulder, “please…”

“Wanna fuck me right here on this chair?” you suggested, “Want me to ride your cock, hard and fast? Would you like that, baby boy?”

“Yes!” He sobbed, “Yes please… ride your baby boy, please…”

You held him tighter, rocking on top of him, rubbing yourself against his dick.

“Take my panties off,” You ordered breathily, “rip ‘em off my body”

You felt his fingers hook on the waistband of your underwear right before he tore them apart. You took him in hand, guiding him into your entrance, holding him there. He tried to buck his hips up, but you squeezed his cock warningly.

He met your eyes, feverish, almost wild look in his and you realized maybe teasing him now might not be the best idea, so you lowered yourself slowly, savoring every inch of him stretching you open, watching his eyes fall shut and his mouth fall open, head lolling back. You latched onto his neck, drowning your moans on it as you took him all the way, your ass resting on the top of his thighs. He snaked his arms around your back under your t-shirt trapping you against him.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, bracing yourself, eager to use him, fuck yourself on his cock, but instead, raised yourself bit by bit until he was almost all the way out, and then lowered your body again, stablishing a torturingly slow rhythm that soon had Peter sobbing against your chest, burying his face in your breasts, pleading, begging, sucking and nibbling at your nipples to try and get your favor.

“Faster, please, faster, I- I need it… I need you… please”

You picked up your pace, riding him fast, and hard as you had promised, whinnying, sobbing, howling every time you let the head of his cock hit your cervix. He was crying underneath you too, tears falling freely down his cheeks, hips jerking up involuntarily to meet yours.

“Missed you so much… thought I had lost you… thought I’d never see you again” he was saying; frenzied, sacred confessions murmured against your skin.

“I’m here now” You soothed, as fevered as him, “Gonna make it up to you… gonna make it so good, take you so good… God I love riding your cock”

He was panting, tilting his hips, trying to get the angle right to make you loose control completely, blunt nails scrapping your back. Your skin felt hot, scorching as you fucked yourself down on him even faster, and you took his t-shirt off, discarding it somewhere behind his head.

“Oh God, yes!” He cheered, eyes fixing on the way your boobs bounced with your movements, “take it off… take it all off… so fucking gorgeous…”

You were so close, he knew it by the way a blush spread down your chest, by the way your lips parted, ready to scream your climax.

“Come, princess, come on my cock…” He encouraged, “Oh God I wanna feel you come!”

That was it, you arched your back almost impossibly, as your tight pussy squeezed his cock almost painfully, your orgasm hitting you like a train. A couple deep thrusts later, and Peter was right there with you, screaming his release into your shoulder. You collapsed on top of him and he gathered you close, kissing your forehead, adoringly. You tilted your head up, capturing his lips. He melted into the kiss, completely spent. You kept on holding each other as your breathings returned to normal. His hands kept roaming up and down your back, counting the sharp ribs he wasn’t able to feel only a few weeks before.

“You lost weight” He observed, worry evident in his voice.

“I know, I haven’t had much appetite lately. Or sleep, for that matter…” you added as giant yawn escaped your mouth. He frowned, realizing how much of a tool this time on the run had taken on you. He placed a final kiss on your shoulder, before dislodging himself from under you.

“Come,” he took your hand, guiding you back into the kitchen, “let’s go make some sandwiches”

You quickly snatched his clothes from the floor and put them on, forcing him into sandwich preparation completely naked.

He shook his head as he bended down to reach something inside the fridge, but you could see the corners of his lips twitch with the smile he was trying to hide.

“Is PB and J alright?”

“Sure,” You replied absentmindedly, distracted by his gorgeous backside. He turned around, catching you staring. Peter blushed bright red, but there was no denying the little smug smirk he wore as he turned back around, grabbing a couple glasses from the cupboard, wiggling his butt a little from side to side to make you laugh.

“It should be me taking care of you, you know that, right?” You commented as he handed you a sandwich and a glass of orange juice. You hadn’t noticed how hungry you were until the scent of the peanut butter reached your nose, making your mouth water.

“I like this way better,” He shrugged, “us, taking care of each other…”

One word. Two letters. And you suddenly realized you weren’t alone in the world anymore. For the first time since you had lost your mother, you had somewhere you could belong to, if you choose to. The last of your carefully constructed walls came crashing down.

And he must have sensed his opportunity because he lowered his sandwich back on the counter to take you into his arms once more.

“Stay,” He whispered in your ear; a request and a command at the same time. “Stay until morning.”

“I will” You accepted, and felt him let out a relieved breath.

_Us_. You liked the sound of that …

...

Sound.

The sound of arguing voices reached your ears, pulling you out of your slumber. You opened your eyes to the early morning light filtering through the windows of the living room in Barton’s home.

“It’s the best I could do, Peter” Clint’s voice sounded apologetic, “and besides that, it’s going to be good for her. She’s still a teenager, she needs stability, and a family”

You got up from the couch, since it was quite obvious they were arguing about you. You caught sight of Peter through the open space, slouching broodingly on a kitchen chair. With his back facing you, you couldn’t see his face, but you were certain he was clenching his jaw in displeasure.

“She’s not going to like it…” He sighed, defeated.

“What am I not going to like?” You entered the kitchen, startling Peter out of his chair. Clint snickered in amusement,

“Y/n! Good morning!” He greeted you jovially, as if you hadn’t tried to murder him the night before, “My wife Laura and my kids had set up a picnic outside for breakfast, all of them are very exited to meet you. Officially, I mean, since you already saw them last night when you shot tranquilizing darts at them…”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and you rolled yours in answer: How had he thought they had slept through all the fighting -and later, fucking- the night before?

“Sounds lovely” You deadpanned. Clint smiled, ignoring your sarcasm.

“It is, but first, I wanted to run something by you…”

You took the seat he offered to you, raising a questioning eyebrow. He froze for a split second, before visibly shaking himself.

“Sorry, you just reminded me so much of her right now… But actually, I wanted to tell you I managed to get Fury off your ass about SHIELD”

You squinted your eyes in suspicion,

“And how did you do that?”

He shrugged, nonchalantly,

“I told him I had recruited you for the Avengers instead”

Peter was right: You didn’t like it. But his hand found yours under the table, and your desire to punch Clint Barton in the face subsided. Slightly.

“Give me one good reason for me to accept that” Your voice was soft, dangerously calm.

“You mean besides the one sitting next to you?” Barton smirked. You shot him daggers with your eyes and he threw his hands up in mock surrender.

“Actually, my real reason is here” He tossed an old file folder on the table in front of you. A quick glance at Peter’s confused expression confirmed that he didn’t know what this was about either. You pulled the file closer, opening it and scanning it’s contents. You felt your blood turn to ice inside your veins.

“What is it?” Peter asked, unable to read the russian characters.

“It’s my Hydra file. How?”

Clint crossed his arms, straight face giving away nothing,

“Nat wasn’t the only one to take something out of the fire that night” He sniffed, a nervous tic of him. “Do you know what they were doing there? What you are?”

You nodded, eyes never leaving the old, confidential documents.

“They were experimenting with super soldier DNA, cloning and breeding… I’m… one of the resulting products"

“Exactly.” He confirmed, “Thirty two super children died that night. Only one of them, Natasha couldn’t bring herself to kill…”

You met his eyes, questioning.

“You reminded her too much of someone she knew” Clint smiled sadly at you, before leaning over you and flipping the file to the very last page, where an old, battered black and white photo of the _donor_ of the DNA used to create you was visible.

“Y/n, your mother is dead, and it’s my fault, and I’ll never be able to make it up to you…” you felt him put his hand on your shoulder, comfortingly, “but your biological father is still alive. And he’s an Avenger.”

Your eyes fell to the picture again, where the carefree face of a pre-serum James Buchanan Barnes was smiling for the camera.


End file.
